Subtle
by Tribble Master
Summary: Dean was Death for a day, and he didn't notice the changes ..at first. takes place at the end of: Appointment in Samara


Challenger: de_nugis for the Sharp Teeth Com on LJ (sharp teeth is love)  
>To complicated to warn you properly.<br>Spoiler: Set after 6x11, Appointment in Samara but no real spoilers  
>Rating: PG-13<p>

**Subtle**

It's subtle how fate works. Dean was Death for a day, and as a reward he won Sam's soul back. The first time a plan for the Winchesters that didn't go wrong. Fate was finally in their favor. After endless hoops, and prayers they had won.

Dean was happy to see Sam alive. It was one more weight taken from his shoulders. They avoided hunting for a week, and just relaxed. But then Dean grew restless. He could feel an itch in his body to move. It scared him at first that he would lose Sam again. Slowly the changes washed over him like acid. Dean ate like normal, but he was losing weight. His skin was getting tighter and tighter over his bones. His cheeks became hollow. He tried to eat more, but soon the taste of food was like ash. He couldn't stomach it. Sam was watching him fearfully, looking for the problem. Dean looked at him like he was meat and began to wonder what Sam needed him for.

Then little things started happening around Dean. Flowers wilted. Grass turned black he walked out. Bugs seemed to appear around… worms crawling around him, flies hovering by; the occasional cockroach. He didn't notice, but Sam did. Sam began to collect books and tear through them. To Dean though, it felt right. It felt like there was just something connecting him to the ground… tethering him to the pulse of those around him.

One day when he was walking out of a restaurant a beagle started bark at him. It dropped dead.

Dean laughed, and he looked like a skeleton. His lips spread over his gums, and his teeth were sickly yellow beneath. There were bruises growing up and down his arms. That night he didn't sleep at all. It wasn't because he was worried, or frightened or even upset about the beagle. It was just that he didn't feel the need. Instead he waited for Sam to pass out, and then he left the motel. Sam was so worried. Always worrying about these details. Hadn't they spent their life following details? But it didn't matter anymore. On the outside he looked like he was dying, but it was so far from the truth it was almost comical. Sam kept pushing him to take meds, urging him to see the doctor. Dean was sick of his nagging. Sam's hysteria was grating on Dean's nerves. He walked up and down the streets and took pleasure in the darkness.

Dean turned the corner and ran smack into a large bulky man. He was in a rush, running from something. Dean wasn't in a rush; he wasn't he even that upset. He tilted his head and turned around. He watched the man speed away. Attached to the man was a golden thread. Dean snapped his fingers and the thread broke. The man clutched at his man and stopped breathing. Dean smiled as the man fell to his knees.

It was so easy to see that thread. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. A breeze wafted by and he felt the cold seep into his bones. It felt wonderful. He took another look at the crowds around him. Each and every person and one small string wrapped around their ankle. Dean knew that he could cut them. He knew that if he wanted he could disappear in smoke. His hollow chest skipped a beat at the possibilities before him.

"Hello." A voice like smoke and rotting whispered around him. Death appeared at his side. "Having fun?"

Death leaned dangerously closer, his breath like bile. "No one cheats me, Dean. You had to know that someday I would call you back."

Dean paused to consider this. How many times had he died? He'd lost count of the endless cycle. And now, he was that thing he'd always been escaping. It was a relief actually. He didn't have to worry about this life anymore; it'd already been stolen from him long before by those responsibilities that had been collecting on his bony shoulders.

Dean's coal black eyes glistened excitedly. It felt like he was finally right where he belonged. "Take me home," he whispered.

_**end **_


End file.
